


Number One

by orphan_account



Category: The City of Ember - Jeanne DuPrau
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-14
Updated: 2016-03-14
Packaged: 2018-05-26 14:56:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6244222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>"It's not the things you do that tease and wound me bad/ But it's the way you do the things you do..." </em>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>She attempts to tame their new passion.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Number One

It didn't bode well for her to understand, or attempt to, why it was so important. When he said, with that boyish excitement, that he wanted to go far away with a band of Roamers that had rolled into town that season with their foreign wares and absolutely ingenious (self-engineered, they said) irrigation plans, she'd put a show of equalling his enthusiasm. The uncannily incandescent quality of his look when he gave her that sweet smile of his allowed Lina to think her response justified. Why would anyone care about a lie like hers, even if it was so blatant, if they knew how hard her heart was squeezing and skittering, skipping beats...? He seemed so thankful.

She offered to teach him about the trickier bits related to surviving alone in a group. He seemed to follow every word, to stick to her back and stay close to her shoulder, and yet his gaze never left the knot she was tying or the text at hand as she gave her lessons; he never grew distracted the way that she wished. And at night when they met to recoup and rest their tired souls in bed, she would look at his face and think:

He looks so tired.

And the thought of doing more than linking hands, of grinding, grinding, licking deep and of kissing unto moaning, grinding.... It faded into the deflated hope that perhaps in a year's time, he'd be back, having satisfied himself with his "trip," and she would be unchanged--

And stay this hungry.

Maybe they had let each other farther in than they should have, showed each other things too blistering and genuine and embarrassing, and to come back from it into clean and simple familiarity---the subtle thrum and bass line constituting the basis of the relationship since they were teens--would and could only lend itself to things getting disturbing, and tight. In the chest kind of tight.

But it was fine. It hadn't felt like a mistake, their first kiss.... And nor had what came after.

He had told her, too, when she said that she really, really, really would be bad for him, her lovers had always left disappointed in some way, he'd taken her by the chin and informed her that he didn't give a single shit either way. And tender and thoughtful all the next day, he had looked genuinely bothered when she swooped in to interrupt their conversation to try and kiss him, because _it had caught him by surprise._ He was so humble, willing to wait, dismissive of male aggression. That was one way he had changed in the years since the playground era of their youth.

Still.

She wanted him insider her, bad, sometimes, the feel of her knocking their wristbones together and images of swirling hips driving her to lethargic undreams in the lonely nights away from home, as she rode to some other town.

In two weeks' time, though he was soon to leave, Doon brought Lina a revelation.

\----

I've been having the same projects in my mind.

Why didn't you want to share them with me?

I don't know. You make me nervous... sometimes.

Hm.

\----

And he told her that he had been obsessed with the thought of her, wanting to set aside time to go on a proper outing like a picnic or a hike, constantly daydreaming and feeling that their night together had thrown him off balance, yet never having the chance (or the energy) to do his feelings justice. He could only express it now, as the last move was made, because the thought of leaving her felt real now. It devastates.

And it devastates her.

He just has this way of undressing her. Emotionally. She cannot take it for granted, she knows. And they kiss and fuck and then hash things out, sharing ideas and outlines for projects with one another; then they fuck again.

But she hopes in a year's time he has not been killed or hurt irrevocably or that he never be lost to her. When she says these things, he only laughs.

That's how I feel whenever, every single time, you leave.

She leans her well-frazzled head against his chest shining with sweat and the dew of their youthful spring, smiling. 

She'll never not be hungry.

But, for now, she's glad. As he's tapping his toes, whistling a tune, and writing the lyrics with a finger on her back letter by letter, goading her to guess the word, she is satisfied.

**Author's Note:**

> Title and summary of the work is, of course, attributed to Blondie's **The Tide Is High.** I know it's not as old as my other stuff but I figure it'd be remiss, while reposting my fan works, not to put this one up. Even if it was super nonsensical, I hope that you were able to derive some enjoyment out of it somehow.


End file.
